


Summer (Camp) is Meant for Love

by Ink_Dancer



Series: Camp Counselors AU [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: COMPLETE!, Camp Counselors AU, How exciting, M/M, the full story is here!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:24:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_Dancer/pseuds/Ink_Dancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>little longer this time, how lovely! jean is falling in love already, but he won't know it until he hits the ground with a hard bump.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jean started up the path toward boy’s village, hunching his shoulders against the rain and burrowing deeper into his hoodie. He hated when camp got cold and wet; everyone was miserable, and he was no exception.

Also, being a lifeguard sucked in this weather, because it was _fucking cold_. 

Luckily, it was time for his period off. His cabin, cabin boys three, would be free of boys, and he would be allowed to sleep in peace, bundled up warmly in his sleeping bag. His boys were a good group, being the second-oldest, but they got on his nerves sometimes. And sometimes, his co-counselor Connie helped with that, too.

Lost as he was in thought, Jean didn’t see the root in time.

He hooked his foot on it and suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet him. At the last minute, he dragged his other foot forward to try and catch himself, but it too landed on the root and slipped in the rain, collapsing at an angle that sent pain lancing up his leg. Jean fell the rest of the way and landed heavily on his elbows, and lay stunned.

Grumbling and swearing and covered in mud, he scrabbled at the wet ground for purchase and tried to stand back up. His collapsed ankle quaked and gave out the second he put pressure on it, and he whimpered at the pain, tumbling into a sitting position again. 

“Need some help?” Jean’s head jerked up at the sound of another man’s voice, and he saw another counselor standing on the path. Marco, with the hood of his raincoat up, staring at him curiously and with a little sympathy. 

He knew Marco, sort of. Of course they’d seen each other during staff training, but not having any activities assigned together meant that he didn’t know the other guy very well. “Uh, sure,” he replied, trying to maintain semblance of dignity. 

Marco moved toward him and helped support him as he stood again, holding him up by his shoulders as he attempted to stand on his injured foot again. “Are you sure you can walk on that?” he asked, eyeing the wobbly ankle. “We should get you to the nurse.”

“How am I supposed to get there if I can’t walk?” Jean asked, raking his sodden hair out of his eyes in frustration. 

“One of two ways,” Marco said logically. “You lean on me very heavily, or I carry you and save us both that effort.”

“Gee, I wonder which option I should choose,” Jean said sarcastically. That made Marco laugh, and Jean watched with interest as his brown eyes lit up with mirth and dimples appeared on his cheeks. “Alright then, how do you want to —”

His words were cut off in a yelp as Marco scooped him up bridal style and started walking nonchalantly up the hill.

“Is this how you treat a man you barely know?” Jean asked weakly. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he also wasn’t entirely sure that he didn’t like it.

“If he’s hurt and I need to get him somewhere and he can’t walk, then yes.” Marco’s voice trembled with suppressed laughter. “Now shut up, you big wuss. It’s not that far.”

It wasn’t that far, and before Jean knew it, he was sitting down on the nurse’s couch and watching as Petra made clucking noises as she examined his ankle. “How far is your range of motion?” she asked, twisting it experimentally.

“Ow, and ow,” Jean replied bitterly. “So stop doing that.”

“You have a grade one strain,” Petra said by way of reply, sitting back. “You stretched a muscle too far, and now it doesn’t want to do anything ever again. Or, at least, for two weeks.”

“Two _weeks_?” Jean spluttered, but Petra ignored him.

“Here’s some ice, here’s some painkillers.” She thrust both of them into his hands. “We can’t wrap it or anything until the swelling goes down, which will be a couple of days. Get used to that couch, Jean, because you’ll be there awhile.”

“Goddamn,” Jean mumbled in wonderment and annoyance, plopping the ice onto the joint with a wince and swallowing the pills.

“You’re still here?” Petra asked, slightly startled, looking up at Marco. He was indeed still there, hovering over them, looking concerned. “You want to be useful, go tell Erwin that Jean’s off-duty for awhile.”

Marco nodded, looking alarmed at having been ordered around so brusquely. Jean stifled a snort. “And please, dear God, bring me something to read when you come back. And some dry clothes.” Marco nodded again and disappeared through the screen door. 

Jean sighed and slumped back into the couch. It was going to be a long couple days, but at least he’d made a new friend.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Watching rain run down windows in rivulets was bordering on torture. Jean idly thumped the back of his head against the arm of the couch. Petra had left for dinner almost twenty minutes before, and Marco had been gone for two hours. Annoyance had long since passed into loneliness, and Jean was drowning in it.

The screen door slammed open, making him jump, and he looked up, hoping to see Marco. He was slightly disappointed to see two boys in raincoats, dripping wet, enter and look around forlornly. “Petra isn’t here,” Jean called out, settling back into the crease his head had made.

“We’re not looking for her,” grouched one of the boys, his shoes squeaking on the floor as he walked over. 

Jean cracked open one eye and reappraised the boys. “Oh hey, Chris, Josh.” Two of his boys were standing there, looking a little confused. “Do you need something, guys?”

“Connie sent us to ask where you are,” Josh replied, scuffing his shoe with a horrific squeak.

“Tell him that my ankle’s busted and I won’t be back until the day after tomorrow,” Jean replied, closing his eyes again. The pain in his ankle was now elevated to dull throb, and he was really starting to want to be left alone.

But Chris spoke again, and startled Jean’s eyes back open. “How long has that tall counselor, what’s-his-name, been on the porch? He’s still out there, it’s like he wants to come in but can’t.”

Jean sat up and called, “Marco?!”

The other man sheepishly opened the door and came in. “Uh, hi, Jean.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Jean demanded, reaching towards the bag Marco held with grabby hands. 

“Only ten minutes,” Marco replied defensively, surrendering the bag. “I left during dinner with Erwin’s permission — sorry I didn’t come before, Bert just got back from his day off and I didn’t have double coverage — and Petra told me to wait for her.”

“Why?” Jean demanded, digging through the bag until he found dry clothes. “Wait, hold on.” He looked pointedly at Josh and Chris. “You two, scram. Tell Connie I said he can jump in the lake if he wants me to walk anywhere right now.”

Josh sighed long-sufferingly (kid was mature for his age, Jesus Christ), but left, Chris trailing behind him.

“Now, you,” Jean pointed commandingly at Marco, “can help me change.” Marco raised an eyebrow, half-laughing, but helped lever Jean into a semi-standing position. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Marco asked drily, watching Jean swear and struggle to get his wet jeans off his body. 

“Oh, shut up,” Jean grumbled, finally peeling the pants off and tossing them into a crumpled pile. “You try getting clothes on and off when you can only stand on one foot.” He managed to work the new pants onto his body and flopped back onto the couch, exhausted. 

“What are you going to do when Petra lets you shower tomorrow?” Marco asked, shaking his head slightly as he sat down next to Jean.

“I dunno,” Jean replied, voice muffled as he pulled on a dry shirt. “Maybe invite you in with me?” He gave Marco a crooked, suggestive grin and then burst out laughing as the freckled man simply spluttered. “Now, what’d you bring me?”

Marco dug into the bag he’d brought, producing a blanket, five books, a few DVDs, Jean’s computer and its charger, and more clothes. “This, and news. Petra says you’re not allowed to sleep tonight.”

“Not allowed to…sleep?” Jean tilted his head and stared at Marco like he had three heads. 

“Petra said something about liability issues and the meds she had you take.” Marco shrugged a little self-consciously. “And so, by default, I have been assigned to keep you awake.”

Jean was unexpectedly touched by the gesture and with a grin, he opened his computer. “Well, then, I hope you're ready for movie time.” He shoved the pile of discs toward Marco. “Pick one.”

Marco held up one after a few moments, and Jean immediately shrieked. “No, we are definitely _not_ watching _The Blair Witch Project_!” he screeched, reaching out to grab the DVD, intending to throw it across the room.

“Oh, are you wussing out?” Marco asked mockingly, reaching over him to slide the DVD into the disc drive. “You need to chill out.”

“Oh, I need to chill out, do I?” Jean demanded, his voice a couple octaves higher than usual. 

“Just relax and enjoy the horror.” The movie began, and Jean’s blood pressure jumped several notches automatically.

The rest of the next two hours were spent with Jean shrieking, clinging to a giggly Marco, or swearing at the top of his lungs. _I fucking hate horror, why did I agree to this?!_

When it ended, Jean closed his computer with a snap and tossed it across the couch, shaking himself as if to rid his body of the fear. “I hate you, you know,” he snapped at Marco, who was still laughing.

“But do you see? Now you’ll be awake all night.” Marco grinned at his apparently clever trick, and Jean let out an indignant screech.

“How could you do this to me?! You couldn’t bring yourself to keep me awake yourself, so you terrified me into staying awake?” Jean made a huffing noise when Marco nodded smugly. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” Marco replied with a yawn. “But if you really want, I’ll stay up with you anyway.”

Jean grumbled to himself for a moment. “Okay, but you’re still an asshole.” He sat up fully so he was facing Marco, keeping his leg outstretched so its ice wouldn’t fall off. “So, what to do?”

There was a brief silence as Marco contemplated, then he settled comfortably back against the couch. “Tell me how you became a counselor,” he said quietly, leaning his head on his hand and balancing his elbow on the top of the couch.

Jean cocked his head, then said a little hesitantly, “Um, Connie and I have been coming here, all summer and every summer, since we were literally like eleven, and so when we got to old we decided that just because we were too old to be campers didn’t mean we shouldn’t come back. That just seemed dumb. So, we came back as LITs last year and for some strange reason, Erwin decided we could come back as counselors this year.” He finished with a self-conscious shrug, gesturing at Marco in a vague attempt for him to tell his story.

Marco huffed out a laugh and replied, “I only started coming here when I was fourteen, and then only for like three weeks.”

“Momma’s boy?” Jean inquired with a tiny smirk.

Marco’s face went a little pink and he smacked Jean’s shoulder. “Shut up,” he snapped, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face.

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” Jean chuckled, holding his hands up in defeat. “Continue?”

“Not much to tell. Same as you, I guess. I wanted to keep coming back, so I came back in the only way Erwin would let me.” Marco tilted his head and let his grin spread wider. “Okay, so, did you know all of the other counselors before the summer started?”

Jean snorted. “Most of them, yeah. Eren’s been coming here as long as Connie and I have, he and Mikasa and Armin. Annoying little shit, he is.” Marco was startled into a laugh, and it fell pleasantly on Jean’s ears, making him smile involuntarily. _Fuck if that isn’t a beautiful sound_. “Anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat, “uh, Sasha I knew. Ymir and Christa, _kinda_. I didn’t see much of them. Everybody else has been a counselor longer’n I’ve been coming here, pretty much.”

Marco nodded as if he was listening, then yawned again. “Jesus, I have to stay up with you all night?” he murmured, burying his face in his arm with a sigh. “I got kids to take care of,” he added, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie.

Jean rolled his eyes. “It’s midnight already, you little shit. And you _promised_. If you go to sleep, that psycho witch thing is gonna kill me.” 

A snort was his only response for a moment before Marco lifted his head back up and smiled blearily. “So I’m all that’s protecting you from the Blair Witch?”

“Yes!” Jean snapped, voice high-pitched again. “Now can we talk about something else?”

“You are a dork,” Marco declared, but dropped the subject. “Okay, so what if we played truth or dare?”

“Truth or dare? I can’t go anywhere on this leg, how’s dare gonna work?” Jean asked grouchily, reaching down to adjust the ice pack. 

“Okay, just truth then.” Marco tipped his head to the side, wide eyes bright in the darkness. “If you could have any mutation, what would it be?”

They talked until the sun began to rise, about everything and nothing, and as the night wore on Jean began to feel a strange sort of pull toward Marco, as though he wanted to be around him for the entirety of the next night, too. He put the idea down to sleep deprivation as he watched Marco slip out the door to start his day, but the niggling feeling stayed in his gut. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little longer this time, how lovely! jean is falling in love already, but he won't know it until he hits the ground with a hard bump.


	3. Chapter 3

“Petra- _aa_ ,” Jean called, not even bothering to lift his head off the couch’s arm.

The harried-looking nurse poked her head out of a doorjam to glare at him. “Jean, if you keep whining, I’ll get Eren to chuck you in the lake.”

“You wouldn’t do that to a cripple,” Jean said with a pout.

She scoffed, flipping her hair out of her face. “What do you want?”

“Have you seen Marco?” Jean tried to keep his voice casual, but Petra still snickered. 

“No, I haven’t,” she said, half-smiling now. “You’d’ve seen him too if he’d been in here. Now shut up, sit still, and quit whining. You’ll be released tonight, it’s not the end of the world.”

“At which point, I will parked on a young boy’s cabin’s porch for a significant portion of the night.” Jean crossed his arms. Being “on duty” was possibly one of the worst things about being a counselor. “You’d think Erwin would’ve taken me off OD schedules because of this.”

Petra shrugged and started to go back into her office. “I stay up that late most nights, Kirschtein. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Jean sighed as loudly as he could, but she didn’t come back, so he subsided into a grumpy silence. It was raining for the second day in a row, and the sound of drumming rain was driving him almost entirely out of his mind. That combined with the incessant loneliness, the fact that he couldn’t reach the plug for his dead laptop, and that the wifi in Petra’s little cabin was shit anyways, he was very close to actually losing his shit.

The screen door creaked open. Jean didn’t even bother to look up — each time he had today, he’d been disappointed. 

“Hey, Jean.”

His head snapped up. The _one_ time he didn’t look. “Heyy, Marco,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows and trying hard not to grin like he’d been waiting for the guy all day.

Marco smiled shyly. “Sorry I couldn’t swing by earlier, I've had activities and kids all day. It’s my period off now, though, so I brought you this.” He handed Jean a cup of coffee and sat on the edge of the couch. “You miss me?”

_Hell yes_. “A little,” Jean said, sipping the coffee. He distracted himself by picturing the already-tall Marco with the _extremely_ tall Bert as co-counselors. “What’ve you been up to?”

“This and that. My boys decided that instead of _resting_ during _rest period_ , they’d make a tower out of their luggage crates and proceed to play King of the Castle.” Marco chuckled to himself. “It didn’t go well. Other than that, lowkey. You?”

Jean snorted and gestured at his surroundings. “Not much,” he replied bitterly. “Oh, hey, while you’re here, wouldja mind plugging my laptop charger in?”

“Sure, no prob.” Marco grabbed the cord and leaned over the couch to get at the outlet behind the wall, consequently settling his hips squarely across Jean’s. “This is where you want it, right?” he added, voice muffled against the couch cushion.

“Yeah,” Jean breathed, his eyes a little wide at the weight of Marco’s body pressed against his. Then Marco sat up again, smiling brightly, and the moment was over. _Okay, what the fuck?_

“I gotta go,” Marco was saying, and Jean snapped out of his head to pay attention. “Evening activity and all. My co will be back tonight, so I should be free for stuff tomorrow if necessary. You’re released in a few hours, though, right?”

“Yeah, released into OD,” Jean said, settling ruefully back into his sofa crease. 

“Better than nothing,” Marco said with a grin, already moving toward the door. “Catch you later!” And then he was gone.

Jean let out all his breath in a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so lonely, I’m imagining things,” he mumbled.

“You’re not imagining much.” Jean opened his eyes to see Petra leaning against the doorway, regarding him with a smirk. “You lit up like a Christmas tree the second he arrived.”

“Sue me for being isolated,” Jean snapped.

“I’m just sayin’.” Petra raised her hands in a mock-surrender. “Denial ain’t just a river in Africa.”

Jean sneered. “Uh-huh, yup. Keep dreaming.” When she was gone, he looked up at the ceiling. _It’s nothing. I’m lonely and upset. Not even Connie’s come to see me, of course I’m a little attached to the previously-practically-a-stranger who carried me here, stayed up all night with me, and came back to check on me as soon as he had a free moment. That’s normal human psychology_.

Shoving aside misgivings, he opened his newly-charging laptop and lost himself in snail-speed internet, counting down the minutes until he was out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been seven months since I updated. Yes, I am a piece of shit for ignoring this story for so long. But!! There are more chapters on the way, and I will be far more Prompt this go around. Stay tuned.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean was awoken by Petra poking him hard in the shoulder, and he sat bolt upright with an indignant cry. “Petra, what the hell?” 

“It’s time for you to leave,” she replied, scowling down at him. “And I need you _awake_ to wrap your ankle up, so get your ass awake and alert.”

As Petra yanked a compression bandage around his injury, glaring at him when he swore at her, she talked him through recovery. “Don’t put weight on it, don’t do lifeguard things, come back here every evening for me to check the bandages, don’t you dare hurt it worse or I might kill you.” The glower she gave him made him nod vigorously, eyes wide and sincere. “Good. You should be good to go in two weeks, I’ll let you know. You’re set.” The nurse unceremoniously hoisted him to his feet and thrust crutches into his hands. “It’s about time you vacated my couch,” she grumbled, and disappeared back into her office without so much as a goodbye. 

Jean maneuvered the bag Marco had brought him with all his stuff onto his shoulders, and then swung his way out of the little nurse’s hut.

The path wasn’t even half as slippery as it had been, and it felt incredibly good to feel fresh air against his face again. It almost made up for how incredibly uncomfortable the crutches were. He passed by the dining hall, where Erwin sat in his eternally-claimed spot on the porch, and managed to get a wave and a shouted “Welcome back!” from the assistant director.

Jean made his way to the porch of his assigned cabin, climbing awkwardly up the stairs and dropping all of his stuff with a _thump_. Abandoning his crutches with a clattering sound, he used the wall as support to get to the door and creak it open. There were six boys in here, the cabin Boy’s Seven (assigned to slightly younger boys, perhaps around eleven), most of them on their bunks. 

Jean noticed one of them gazing determinedly at a book, but the tightness of his fingers on the cover and the fact that his eyes weren’t roving told Jean that he was in fact wishing that a cluster of other boys, who were shouting and bounding around on the other side of the room, would shut the hell up. 

Scowling a little, Jean put his fingers between his teeth and whistled, sharp and shrill. The boys stopped short and held still, staring at him with wide eyes. “Hey,” Jean said, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “I’m Jean, I’ll be your OD counselor for tonight.” He flicked his wrist and checked his watch. “I want you guys in bed right about now, ‘kay? I’ll stand here till you go.”

They stood stock-still for a brief moment, until it became clear that he wasn’t joking. Then a few sullen boys slinked back to their beds and slid into sleeping bags.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll be out here if you need anything, anything at all.” He grinned at them, and most of them smiled back. “Twenty minutes of flashlight time sound good?”

After a chorus of “sure”s, he flicked the big light off and closed the cabin door, though not before catching the grateful eye of the boy clutching a book. Jean smiled at him extra-wide.

The cabin was sufficiently quiet, so Jean slid into a sitting position with a muffled _oof_ , managing not to upset his crutches into loud noise. Then he leaned his head back against the wall and let his ankle throb, wishing for more ice.

Footsteps forced his eyes open, and he looked up to see a familiar, freckled figure climbing the stairs. “Marco?” he called, not bothering to keep his voice low. The boys were almost definitely still awake. He could hear their hissed conversations through the wall, the ones they thought he couldn’t hear.

“Jean?” Marco stepped up onto the porch and grinned at him. “Wow, small camp.”

“This is your cabin?” 

“Obviously.” Marco smirked that crooked little smile at him, the one that made Jean’s stomach dance a little. “I was just gonna come grab some stuff for staff time, but…” He hesitated a moment, biting his lip, debating. “I guess I could just stay here?” It was a question, but Jean couldn’t figure out why.

“Okay, if you want to.” Jean tried really hard not to grin like a dope at him, but it didn’t quite work. 

Marco’s face opened up like sunshine, and he sat down heavily next to Jean. “I’m assuming we’re not going to watch anymore horror movies,” he said, chuckling when Jean elbowed him in the ribs.

“ _Obviously_ not, unless you want me to wake your kids up with really loud swearing,” he growled back, struggling not to bust out laughing as well. “And we need to wait like ten minutes, I gave your boys flashlight time.”

“Did they deserve it?” Marco asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, a few of them did,” Jean conceded, tipping his hand back in forth in a _so-so_ gesture. “There’s this one kid who had a book and he seemed really happy when I made the other boys calm down —”

“That was Jack.” Marco sighed through his nose and leaned back against the wall, looking tired all of a sudden. “He and Ben are great friends, but they only hang out with each other. They like to read, and quiet things, and whenever the rest of the cabin acts rowdy, Jack in particular tends to get upset.”

Jean chewed on his lip. “Well, we are only a few days into camp,” he said reasonably. “I’m sure Jack will warm up to louder activites, and the others will get more respectful of his quiet stuff. You should suggest to him that any time that’s not bedtime, he should come hang out on the porch. I always liked to do that as a camper.”

Marco regarded him with surprise. “I’ll do that. I didn’t take you for a quiet kid, though, what’s with that?”

“I wasn’t, really,” Jean said with a laugh. “I just liked to get away from the craziness of the cabin and all the noise and everybody in there. I had a blast just chilling on the porch staring into the trees.” He held up a hand in a peace sign. “Part-time hippy, that’s me.”

Marco laughed, then sat up. “Do you want a blanket? I can go grab one.”

Jean checked his watch. “I gotta go in to tell them to turn off the flashlights anyway, I’ll can get it.”

“You’re not going anywhere, cripple.” Marco hoisted himself to his feet. 

“I am, too!” Jean protested, leaning heavily on the wall to pull himself upright. “You shouldn’t be in there. I’m the counselor on OD, I should be telling them when to shut the lights off!"

“Jean.” Marco’s hand landed on Jean’s shoulder, and he looked up into warm brown eyes. “You have an injured ankle, this is my cabin, my boys will listen to me, and you don’t even know where my bunk is. Just sit down, hang tight, and chill out.”

With that, he disappeared into the cabin. Jean subsided back into a sitting position, grumbling to himself. He listened as Marco announced the end of flashlight time, explained patiently why he was there, and told the boys in no uncertain terms to go to sleep. Jean listened as silence fell in the cabin.

“Got it!” Marco emerged, closing the door behind him before settling back down next to Jean. “So what’re we gonna watch?”

“Something classic,” Jean said, musing over his small collection of DVDs. “How about _Princess Bride_?”

“Works for me.” They settled in, sharing earbuds to keep from waking the kids, the blanket settled across both their laps. 

“You didn’t have to give up staff time just to hang out with me, you know,” Jean said about halfway through the movie, just before the Pit of Despair.

Marco shifted a little, pressing more of his warm side against Jean. “This is more fun.” Jean felt his voice as a rumble against his shoulder, and resisted the urge to shiver. He chose not to respond, because he couldn’t think of a normal-person answer.

They finished the movie, and then the movie after that, and then the one after that. By that time, Jean’s stint as OD counselor was over, and he was due back in his own cabin and his own bed for the first time in two days. But he lingered, taking the time to pack things very carefully in his bag and letting Marco lift him into a standing position. “Thanks for hanging out with me,” he said with a crooked grin, moving to toss his bag onto his back.

“You’re welcome.” Marco took the bag from him and started toward the stairs.

“Where ya goin’?” Jean asked, leaning casually against his crutches.

Marco paused and looked at him briefly, with a tinge of confusion. “I’m walking you back to your cabin,” he replied slowly. “Is that okay?”

“The perfect gentleman.” Jean swung his way off the porch and smiled. “Yes, that’s fine.” 

Jean would have been more sorry to say goodnight to Marco if the promise of his bed wasn’t waiting for him. Still, he felt a small pang in his gut as he watched Marco’s back recede. _This is getting weird_ , he thought decisively, before shoving the thought away into a small corner of his brain and collapsing into a blissful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Jean was unpleasantly awoken far too early by yelling. Connie was shouting at the cabin to get up or else they’d be late for Chapel. 

“Connie, shut the hell up,” Jean grumbled, burying his face in his pillow. 

“Get up and stop swearing,” Connie said, yanking the pillow out from under his head. “You’re included in the headcount, we need to get going.”

“The bell hasn’t even rung yet!” Jean snapped, sitting up abruptly and glaring at Connie with bleary eyes and rumpled hair.

“It rang five minutes ago!” Connie shouted back, throwing a sweatshirt at his chest and scooping up his crutches. “Now let’s _go_ , Kirschstein!” 

Jean shrugged the hoodie on and shoved himself into a quasi-standing position, grabbing the crutches and beginning the long journey to morning Chapel, which in his opinion was complete bullshit. “Can’t I just go straight to breakfast? Or even just straight to flag?” he asked grouchily, following his small herd of boys down the path. 

Connie hovered behind him, looking much more like his normal, stress-free self now that they were underway. “I dunno, dude. You’d have to run it past Erwin, and I doubt he’d give you concessions for your injury.”

“You never know, he can be a reasonable guy.”

“Only when he needs to be, and right now you’re just being lazy,” Connie said logically. “Anyway, we’re almost there, so quit your whining.”

Jean stuck his tongue out at his co and continued limping along.

Breakfast was a bit of an ordeal, what with waiting in buffet lines and having to _get up_ to make it to the hot water machines, until Connie offered, with a long-suffering sigh, to go get him coffee and some cereal. “Thank you, Connie,” Jean said sing-songingly, sipping what was probably his fifth cup of coffee in less than twenty-four hours. 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he jerked with surprise, almost spilling his coffee. “Jesus shitting fu-” Jean managed to catch himself before more profanities could come out of his mouth, already twisting around to glare at the culprit.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” Standing there, looking flustered and apologetic with pink dusting his cheeks, was Marco. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Jean replied, calming himself a little and gently putting his cup down. Connie snorted into his own cup. Jean dug his elbow into Connie’s ribcage until he yelped. 

Marco didn’t spare the odd exchange a second thought and broke into a wide smile. “Sorry. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine.” Jean did his absolute best not to look ridiculously pleased. It didn’t work.

Marco opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Erwin smacking a small bell with a spoon. This was normal procedure for gathering the dining hall’s attention, which it did. Marco gave Jean one last smile and snuck back to his own table.

Connie shot a look at Jean, but Jean pretended not to see it.

“With no rain in the forecast, all activites proceed as normal today!” Erwin announced, eliciting ragged cheers from most of the kids. While rainy day activites were fun, they were made less so when they were consecutive days in a row. “Unfortunately for counselors,” Erwin continued, “schedules for this week have been altered slightly due to a scheduling dilemma.” He turned to look at Jean. “We had to…shuffle some things.”

Shrugs were seen all around. It was Monday, so nobody really gave a shit. Nobody’d had an opportunity to get used to this week’s schedule yet. Jean breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Breakfast ended, and Jean made his slow way over to the schedule board. He peered around for his name, his eyes flicking by default to the waterfront section before remembering that he was removed from lifeguard duty until his ankle was better. Scowling, he continued looking until a freckled hand appeared in his vision and pointed at the proper row. “You’re in arts and crafts now,” Marco said, his breath warm against Jean’s cheek.

“Thanks.” Jean swallowed, focusing on what activities he was assigned to. “Is this a joke?” he demanded after a second.

Marco looked confused. “How do you mean?”

“I do not know how to play the piano, for one.” Jean stabbed a finger at the offensive _Piano Lessons_ assignment. “And I am Broken. I most likely cannot assist in something entitled ‘Crazy Crafts.’”

“Well, the other two they assigned you are painting and bracelet making, which are pretty lowkey,” Marco said reasonably. “And guess what? I’m assigned to _three_ of the same ones, including the ones you can’t do.” The freckled man gently guided Jean’s finger to the other assigned names, and sure enough, he was right. “We don’t need another artistic counselor, just need another warm body to look after kids.”

_I can be a warm body. …Don’t you fucking dare say that out loud_. “You can play piano?” he blurted, and wished he’d settled on his more immediate response.

Marco just laughed. “Why, yes, I can.” A whistle from behind him drew his attention, and he waved at Bert. “I gotta go. See you in a few!”

And he was gone.

Jean sighed, leaning more heavily on his crutches. _Erwin, I don’t know what you were thinking, but I both fucking love you and fucking hate you for this one_. “Connie, where the hell are you?” he demanded, and sighed when his co did not appear, resigned to brave the long trek to his cabin alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the new clump. I'll try to update weekly, how's that sound? Maybe more often as I crank these out. Enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

The arts and crafts shed was actually more of a barn, and it was a ridiculously cool place. All kinds of paint splattered the bare wooden walls, crafts supplies were scattered around as if the person in charge was particularly haphazard and unorganized (which Christa…could be sometimes), and glitter was permanently ingrained into pretty much every surface.

Marco came bounding up the stairs, looking full of energy and radiating excitement and contentment. “You ready?” he asked brightly in Jean’s general direction, already pulling out art supplies from shelves and setting them down in seemingly random places. How he could find anything in this mess, Jean had no idea.

“Ready for what? Sitting here as an extra set of eyes?” Jean frowned at his leg, almost willing it better. He missed the waterfront already.

“Bracelet making,” Marco corrected him with a crooked little grin. “Here.” He dropped a few spools of string on the table in front of him. “I’ll take care of checking the kids in, you just hang there and try to make something out of these.”

Jean stared at the string for a moment, baffled, and tried to catch Marco’s eye as he moved back toward the door of the barn. “Help, please?”

Marco spared him an amused glance. “I’ll help you with something ten-year-old girls do in their free time once said ten-year-olds arrive.”

Jean stuck his tongue out at Marco’s back, and that was more or less the end of that. 

Bracelet-making, it turned out, was an hour-long period involving a bunch of campers excitedly gossiping, singing along to the radio (the only source of outside communication for the kids), and making bracelets that looked actually _good_.

Jean, in contrast, stared sadly at his tangled mess of string and tried to tune out the noise around him.

Something landed on his shoulder, and he jumped, nearly swearing before he caught himself. “What the —” He spun, ready to be angry, only to find Marco. Yet again.

“Sorry,” Marco chuckled. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted help.” He settled himself against the table, reaching for the string without waiting for an answer. 

“Sure.” Jean relinquished the string to Marco, and watched with interest as he unknotted the strands and manipulated them through a fairly simple pattern. “Don’t you have kids to help?” Jean kept his voice in a sullen mutter, trying not to sound too embarrassed about the whole issue.

“They’re perfectly capable,” Marco replied airily. “ _You’re_ the one who needs help.”

Jean sucked his cheeks into keep from arguing. It was perfectly accurate, insulting though it was.

“Okay, so do you think you can do this pattern?” Marco asked after awhile, gesturing with the string as he taped it to the table in front of them. “I can demonstrate some more, but I think you can get it.”

“Go help children,” Jean replied, already twisting the threads into mostly-correct positions. “I got this.”

Marco chuckled and moved away, leaving Jean with his tongue between his teeth to focus on weaving strings of various shades of red together. He’d thought the color would look good on Marco — he swallowed as heat rose to his face at the thought. _There is actually something wrong with me_.

He finished the bracelet and looked up, snapping his fingers to get Marco’s attention and gesturing him over. Looking puzzled, Marco obliged. As soon as his wrist was in range, Jean looped the mostly-finished bracelet around it and examined the end result. “What…are you doing.” Marco kept his voice steady, but Jean could hear the suppression of laughter behind it, and fought down a blush.

“Measuring,” he replied imperiously, and tied a knot, crowing when it fit perfectly.

Marco located a pair of scissors and cut off the excess thread, then proceeded to stare at the bracelet with a tiny smile on his face. “Thanks, Jean,” he said quietly. Then he cleared his throat, and opened his mouth, clearly about to say something.

He was interrupted by the bell clanging in the distance, and jerked as if shocked. “On to period two, kiddos!” he called out, and the sound of benches scraping back and excited conversation was deafening as the kids left the building and moved on.

“What’s next?” Jean asked, reaching for his crutches with a grunt and heaving himself into his _quasi_ -standing position. 

“Piano,” said Marco cheerfully, scooping a portable keyboard under each arm and starting toward the picnic tables. “We’ll pick up the kids and then we’ll head over to the dining hall.”

Jean nearly tripped over another root on his slow way to the dining hall, but Marco (and by extension, their five kids) was patient and walked as slowly as he did. Marco spent the walk discussing piano pasts with the kids — two of them had had lessons, and three of them had never touched a piano. Marco declared this exciting. Jean was terrified.

They settled in at a couple tables in the dining hall, thunking each keyboard down and turning them on. Marco pointed the two who knew what they were doing at one of the pianos, and told them to practice scales and chords and simple melodies until he had time. “Share,” he ordered, smiling cheerfully at them. “I’ll be over soon, once I’m done with the rookies.”

The other three kids and Jean sat around the other table, Marco in front of the keyboard. Two of the kids were thick as thieves, elbowing each other and whispering and giggling and generally having more fun than it made sense to be having. The other one sat quietly, running her finger over the whorls in the table.

Jean edged himself closer to her as Marco plucked out a succession of notes on the keyboard, warming up. “Hey,” he said quietly, startling her a little. “What’s your name?”

She glanced at him furtively. “Anna,” she mumbled, letting her bangs flop into her face as she looked away from him. 

“I’m Jean,” he said, undeterred by her attitude. “You’ve never been near a piano?” She shook her head, glowering at the table a little harder. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret — neither’ve I.”

Surprised, she actually looked at him for the first time, big brown eyes narrowing suspiciously at him. “Really?” she asked, her finger stilling its motion on the tabletop.

“Mhm,” he said. 

“So what’re you doing here?” Anna asked, hands dropping into her lap entirely. 

Jean gestured at his foot. “I’m broken,” he declared dramatically, drawing a laugh out of her. “It’s a little inconvenient. Normally I’m a lifeguard, but I’ve been put here —”

“Jean,” Marco interrupted, eyebrows high in mock disapproval. “How do you expect to learn if you continue talking over me?”

Anna erupted into giggles, which were hastily but gleefully stifled as Jean mimed zipping his lips shut, faking a chastised look. Marco quirked the corner of his mouth in response, and promptly launched into a very patient explanation of notes and finger placement and scales. 

“So how this is gonna work,” Marco said, edging away to murmur to Jean as the kids practiced, “is they need partners to perform a duet at dinner on Friday. Only if they want to, but I think they should at least learn duets in partners, regardless of performing preferences.”

Jean hummed in absent agreement, tapping his fingers along the table with his tongue between his teeth, pretending there were piano keys under his hands.

“Are you listening, Jean?” Marco asked, leaning hard into his shoulder.

Jean startled, dropping his hands as a blush dusted over his cheeks. “Sorry — I, yes, uh —” His stammering came to an abrupt halt as he looked up and his brain short-circuited at how _goddamn close_ Marco’s face was to his. “H-hi,” he managed, sounding strangled, pink spreading swiftly across his whole face as he tried to remember how to breathe. _Hot damn I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me_.

“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” Marco said, raising a single eyebrow and pulling his body out of Jean’s space, seemingly oblivious to the effect he’d had. “ _Anyway_ , I want you to be Anna’s partner. I’m going to teach you ‘Heart and Soul.’”

Jean opened his mouth to protest his lack of skill, his blush still not faded, but his eyes fell on Anna, working hard to hammer out a scale, crinkling her nose in concentration. His objection died in his throat. “Okay,” he said, his fingers resuming their drumming without his consent. “But you better teach me perfectly, Marco, ‘cuz I ain’t about to embarrass her by fu — screwing up in front of the whole camp.”

Marco chuckled. “You got it.”

Jean’s hand size was his only advantage as Marco walked him through the chord half of “Heart and Soul.” He had a abysmal timing and musicality, and his sense of rhythm was, if possible, even worse off. Marco frequently left to help out the other kids, teaching simple songs and sometimes more complex ones. By the end of the hour, Jean’s fingertips hurt, but Anna had managed to get through three whole renditions of a C scale without tripping up or stopping, so he was happy.

By the last ten minutes, Marco still hadn’t sold the two piano experts on what song they should play together. They kept arguing over who got chords and who got melody, and what song featured who best. It was wearing on Marco a bit, Jean could tell, from the periodic clenching of his jaw and the frustrated glint in his eyes and the downset of his brow. _Not_ that Jean was looking that closely. That would be ridiculous.

Finally, with five minutes to go and all the other kids stopping their playing to watch the bickering, Marco lost his patience. “Enough!” he cried out, swinging his long legs over the bench to sit heavily between the two, forcing them to scoot out of his way, a little alarmed. “If you can’t agree on a duet, then you can do the same song, separately.”

“How?” one of the kids was brave enough to ask. 

Marco fixed him with a stare that would have made Jean shrink away a little. Marco when he was peeved was no joke. “You should measure that very carefully before you decide to do this without a partner. Now, I have an idea to run by the two of you. Are either of you trained in improvisation?”

One of them nodded, and the other made a so-so gesture with her hand. 

“Take chords,” Marco told the boy. “We’ll switch, so be ready.” The two of them stood, and Marco picked out a melody, aimless and wandering at first before speeding up into a concrete pattern. He put his other hand on the piano as the kid began to play along. It was fast, alarmingly so, and Marco’s hands were a blur as he moved them up and down, Jean’s bracelet flashing brightly on his wrist. He abruptly shifted to plucking out chords, with the same desperately energetic speed, and it only took a beat for the kid to pick out the same melody, deeper and different but fundamentally the same. “Yeah!” Marco encouraged, grinning widely as he swept his fingers down the keys in a fast riff before returning to a bass line.

The bell rang, ending the duet with a jarringly off-key note and two sheepishly-grinning players. “Good work,” Marco said, scooping up the keyboards and passing one to one of the older campers. “D’you think you can do something like that?” he asked the two experts, both of whom nodded fervently. Marco laughed and handed off the other piano to the waiting hands of Christa, who’d materialized from nothing next to the table. “Can you take the kids?” Marco asked her lowly.

Christa’s eyes flicked inexplicably to Jean (who still sat in a minor shock from Marco’s piano playing) and she nodded. “Sure thing.”

Marco came over and sat next to Jean. “So. What’d you think?”

“Of what?” Jean asked, his voice a little croaky. 

“The piano,” Marco said, waving his hand in a vague, all-encompassing gesture. “This.”

“You’re really good,” was the first thing out of Jean’s mouth. “And I’m awful,” he added with a chuckle, straining to take the attention of the fervent compliment.

Marco’s mouth quirked. “Thanks. And you’re not that bad,” he said generously. “You’ve got potential.” They sat in silence for a moment until the telltale rumble of campers outside the door reached their ears, and Marco scrambled to get Jean’s crutches before Jean made it to his feet. “Let’s get you to your table,” he said, herding Jean toward the table despite his protests. “See you third period,” he said with a wink, heading in the direction of the campers.

“Wait, but I’ve got third period off,” Jean protested, grabbing at Marco’s sleeve to stop him leaving.

Marco half-turned. “I need you there to create an example of what we’re gonna do fourth period, but if you need a nap or something, we can postpone it to tomorrow.” 

His genuine concern made Jean’s chest constrict. “Nah, that’s okay,” he said gruffly, releasing Marco’s sleeve. “I can come by.” Then he frowned again. “What about your campers third period?”

Marco waved the question away. “It’s extreme drawing, and I’ve got two other co’s for that class. Christa took it herself so I could have time to prepare for Crazy Crafts.” He smiled brightly. “So, see you then!” Without waiting for a response, he turned and ambled out toward his campers.

“See you then,” Jean murmured to an empty dining hall.


	7. Chapter 7

Jean crutched his way into the art barn ten minutes late to third period, cursing hills and roots and crutches and strained muscles the whole way. “Marco!” he called, letting his irritated voice echo around the strikingly empty barn. “I’m here!”

Marco came bustling toward him and hauled him into a chair, taking his crutches and leaning them against the table without so much as a “hello.” One of his wrists was covered in rolls of packing tape, slung around his arm like so many oversized bracelets. 

“What are you doing?” Jean asked, fighting to keep his voice even as Marco wrapped careful fingers around his good ankle, lifting it up and examining it cryptically.

“I’m trying to make an example of a tape person,” Marco replied, yanking on the end of the tape. He pressed it with one hand against Jean’s foot, and began winding the roll of tape around and around Jean’s foot, sticky side away from his body, moving methodically up his leg.

Jean stared, bewildered. “Uh. A tape person?”

“Yes. You wind the tape around limbs, sticky side out like so, until the limb is encased.” Marco had reached Jean’s knee. “Then you repeat the process, this time sticky side in, to create a smooth exterior. Then you simply cut it off —” Marco mimed a pair of scissors with his fingers, “ — and tape over the cut. Presto, cast of a leg.” 

His deft fingers were already wrapping the tape over Jean’s upper thigh, making his skin tingle and his stomach perform an inexplicable flip. Before Jean could react at all (he hadn’t decided whether to shove Marco’s hands away or pull him closer, as both options alarmed him to no end), Marco was ripping off the current length of tape and beginning the second layer.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Jean started humming his half of “Heart and Soul” and drummed his fingers in what felt like the proper rhythm. Marco flicked his gaze up at him as he finished taping Jean’s leg and reached for the scissors. “Am I doing it right?” Jean asked.

Marco hummed indecisively. “I’d have to see your fingers on a piano,” he said. His hands were uncomfortably close to Jean’s crotch again.

Christa chose that moment to skip up the steps to the art barn, absently singing something about finding paints. She came to an abrupt halt at the scene in front of her, saw Marco’s hand positioning, and immediately turned around and walked back out with a muttered “nope.”

Jean’s cheeks flamed, but Marco didn’t grace the incursion with a response. Instead, he escalated the situation. “Sorry ‘bout this.” He pushed himself upright with the scissors and settled himself in Jean’s lap before Jean could say a word.

“W-What are you doing?” Jean managed to sputter, as Marco leaned forward and began gliding the scissors through the tape down his leg.

“This is the only way to get a good angle on your leg,” Marco replied absently. He seemed to have no idea the effect he was having on Jean, whose face was red and whose breath was coming a little short.

Marco hopped off, and Jean thanked every deity he could think of as he pulled the tape off. “Did you get what you wanted?” Jean asked grouchily, shifting uncomfortably.

“Yup!” Marco chirped, unperturbed. “Now I gotta do your other limbs. And your torso.”

He overrode Jean’s half-hearted protests and continued to tape him up. It got less awkward as they continued onto his arms, which went by fairly quickly and without incident.

Jean had been dreading the torso, but after the first winding of tape with too much Marco in his space, his friend kept back to continue the circling. After a confining few minutes of not being able to breathe, Marco sliced off the last component of the “tape person” and began to construct the figure from the casts of Jean’s limbs. 

“You’re not gonna do my head, are you?” Jean asked. He was only half-joking.

Marco spared him a glance from where he was struggling to stick the tape-cast legs to the bottom of the torso. “I should’ve done your ass,” he mumbled to himself, then seemed to remember that Jean had said something. “Oh! Yeah, no. Wouldn’t want you suffocating, now would we?” He flashed Jean a blinding, distracted smile.

Jean decided to completely ignore the ass comment. “How _do_ you do the head, then?”

“Balloon,” Marco said, like it was obvious.

“Oh, of course.” Jean flicked his wrist and checked his watch. “We’ve got five minutes till those kids get here. Will you have that done in time?”

Marco was about to answer, but he dropped a tape roll with a loud _bang_ and a hastily-stifled expletive. Jean winced in sympathy. “Jesus Christ,” Marco grumbled, now on his hands and knees under the table. Jean determinedly did _not_ stare at his ass. He popped back up, his face flushed. “Yeah, probably. If not, I’m sure we can explain the gist of it.”

The kids came streaming a few minutes later, and Marco greeted them with a completed tape person. Excited, the kids quickly constructed their own, before filling the dummies with glitter. Marco laughed as they began to set up false sword fights. Jean watched him chuckle, trying to remove from his head the feeling of Marco sitting on his lap.

* * *

 

Erwin smacked the bell with his spoon. “Cabin of the day!” he shouted. “Go up and get your food.” The noise took a slight uptick as a girls’ cabin stood up and made their way to the buffet table, laughing and chatting and almost-strutting.

Jean sighed and looked at Connie. “You know what I want.” 

“Yeah, I gotchu, bud.” Connie slapped his shoulder sympathetically. “We’ll be back.” The cabin took off as soon as Erwin pointed at them, and Jean was left alone. He rested his chin on his palms and stared at the center of the table, trying to entertain himself.

His thoughts spiralled back to Marco, as they’d developed such an annoying habit of doing. He scowled at the wood of the table and pushed the thoughts away.

Distraction arrived in the form of Connie, who’d brought him a plate with two messy burgers and a massive pile of chips. Grinning, Jean attacked the food.

Five minutes later, Eren rose from his table. Jean, whose eyes were always attuned to whatever stupid shit Jaeger might pull, immediately zeroed in on him. “Get me up,” he growled.

One of his boys, Chris, looked at him with wide eyes. “What?”’

“You heard the man, lift him!” Connie exclaimed, grabbing Jean’s arm and hoisting him to his feet (or rather, foot). Jean leaned heavily against his co-counselor one one side and Chris on the other. 

“Jaeger, you ready?” he shouted. A hush fell.

Eren made a show of pacing around his table, shaking his fist a little and making all of his boys blow into it like he was holding dice. Connie rubbed Jean’s shoulders like he was a wrestler.

Sasha stood up, her table directly in between theirs, and held her arm out like a race announcer. “On your mark! Get set! Gooo!”

The boys held their fists out. _“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”_ they yelled.

Jean threw paper. Eren threw rock.

Cheers and boos erupted across the dining hall. Jean almost fell as the boy holding him up on his left abandoned him to jump around in exultation. Eren’s cabin roared in anger and began chanting, “Two out of three! Two out of three!”

Jean complied, holding out his fist again. Eren’s eyes narrowed at him. Sasha held out her hand again. 

_“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”_

Jean, again, threw paper. Eren threw scissors.

Jean watched Eren’s cabin begin to cheer, and his boys groaned in anguish. He heard Connie smack his forehead. _“ONE MORE!”_ he shouted across the chaos.

Quiet slowly fell. They raised their fists once more. Sasha counted down.

_“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”_

Jean threw rock. Eren threw scissors. 

The dining hall exploded. Jean’s cabin was beside themselves, screaming at the tops of their lungs. Connie, to his credit, was managing to bellow praise, slap Jean celebratorily on the back, and still hold him up. The boys were now taunting Eren’s cabin, who had their heads in their hands. Armin was trying to console Eren, who was in a similar position. 

Jean let a silly grin spread across his face, and he suddenly made eye contact with Marco, who was clapping and smiling as well. Marco lifted his hands to clap directly at Jean, whose grin got wider.

The sound of a bell interrupted them, and the dining hall fell begrudgingly quiet. Connie guided Jean back down onto the bench.

Erwin was clearly hiding a grin. “And that concludes our nightly Rock-Paper-Scissors joust. Good work to both participants. Jean, happy bragging rights.”

A few scattered cheers. Jean smiled again.

“Now, onto tonight’s evening activity…”

Jean zoned out, shoving one last chip in his mouth. His mind, instead of replaying the glorious moment of Eren’s defeat, was gracing him with the image of Marco’s smile. Jean took a huge gulp of water, fighting back a blush.


	8. Chapter 8

“I told you that you had to make me good at this,” Jean said, pouting ever so slightly. 

“I will if you _let_ me,” Marco chastised him. He grabbed Jean’s left wrist and squeezed it until Jean let it go limp. “Thank you. Put it here.” He rested the hand against the keys. “Come on. You know the chords. Use those big hands of yours to get all the notes.”

Jean scowled at the piano. It was after light’s out during staff time, when Jean and Marco _should_ be in the staff house watching television. Instead, they were camped in the dimly-lit dining hall, at the old, slightly-out-of-tune piano that lived there. It was Thursday. Jean had tonight and one more day to get good at his half of “Heart and Soul,” or he would let Anna down.

“Start from the beginning,” Marco encouraged. “You can do it.”

Jean took a breath, spread his hands, and started the song. The chords of the song had to start it before the melody came in, which stressed him out. He was no good at performing anything other than stupid shit with Jaeger in front of the whole camp—he was not looking forward to it., no matter what he’d promised Anna 

Marco started playing the accompanying part with steady fingers, nodding along as Jean continued to pluck out the right rhythm. 

They made it through one and a half renditions before Jean’s hands slipped, and a jarringly out of key note sounded. 

He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and slammed both hands down on the keys, hard. The loud, strident tones echoed in his ears.

Marco just laughed, kind of musically, and reached for Jean’s hands again. This time, he put them in Jean’s lap. “Just relax,” he advised. “We’ll try again in a minute.”

He put his own hands on the keys and started playing something different, somethiing soft and a little like a lullaby. Jean instantly felt tension bleed out of his body, and he sagged a little. The notes slid pleasantly over his ears, and he let himself lean his head against Marco’s shoulder.

Then Marco began to sing.

It was kind of quiet, and a little hesitant, but Marco’s voice was so _nice_ and even though the words were in some other language (Italian?) Jean could grasp the idea. It really _was_ a lullaby. Marco’s voice was deeper than he expected, and from where Jean was leaning against him, he could feel the vibrations of it. He could also hear Marco’s muscles creak as he moved his hands around.

_This is nice_. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting Marco’s voice soothe him.

Suddenly, Marco stopped. Jean made a grumpy noise and cracked open an eyelid, only to find Marco looking down at him and chuckling.

Jean went red and sat up, clearing his throat. “Uh, right. Okay.” He put his hands back on the piano.

“Let’s try again,” Marco suggested, a laugh barely contained behind his voice. 

“Yeah. Let’s.” Jean felt his shoulders tense again, and he forced them to relax. He took a breath. Then he started to play.

He knew, intellectually, that “Heart and Soul” was a ridiculously easy song. But that didn’t stop him from being relieved and triumphant when he finally got it right.

They made it through three times, and Marco gently pressed against Jean’s foot as they began the fourth round. Jean got through the fourth, and managed to stop without it sounding bad, and without messing up at all.

He looked up at Marco with a wide grin. “I did it!” he crowed, holding up a hand for a high five.

Marco laughed and gave him one. “Yeah, you did! Now you just need to practice with Anna tomorrow, instead of me, and you’ll be all set.”

Jean nodded, his face setting into a concentrated expression. “Yeah. All set.”

Marco laughed again and nudged his shoulder against Jean’s. “Come on. Let’s go back to the cabins. I think staff time is over now.” 

“Wait.” Jean caught his sleeve as he made to stand up. “Could you… play that song again?” He fought down a wave of heat in his face.

“Yeah.” Marco smiled softly. “I can.”

They ended up staying in the dining hall until well past midnight, and Jean fell asleep against Marco’s shoulder as he played and sang.

* * *

 

Jean sucked in a huge breath, forcing oxygen into his body. Then he went back to picking at his food, quickly forgetting to breathe again.

Connie raised an eyebrow at him. “Dude. Are you really taking this little recital that seriously?” He jerked his chin at the plate still full of food, which was ridiculously unusual for Jean.

_“Yes.”_ Jean scowled at him. “It’s important!”

“…To a ten-year-old,” Connie said flatly. 

“Yes! And that makes it important to me!” Jean frowned and began shoveling food into his mouth. He abruptly stopped when he saw Marco stand up with Erwin, whose spoon was poised.

He shoved himself away from the table and went to join Marco’s piano class, his crutches loud in the quiet caused by Erwin’s bell. He didn’t actually listen as the recital was announced, just sidled up to Anna’s side and grinned down at her. She gave him a shaky smile in return, and he saw her hands trembling.

Just like that, he was calm.

“Hey, we got this,” he murmured reassuringly, nudging her with his arm.

Her smile widened, and she reached up to take one of his hands. “Yeah, we do,” she said, her voice small but very determined.

They were slated to go second, thank heaven. If four years of high school presentations had taught Jean anything, it was that both first and last were highly undesirable positions. 

Before he knew it, it was their turn. He was sitting at the piano, leaning his crutches against the wall next to it. His Jaeger-tuned ears heard Eren saying something snarky, but for once, he forced himself to tune it out. He’d strangle that bastard later. 

“Ready?” he whispered.

Anna nodded resolutely, her brow set. “Ready.”

Jean rested his fingers on the keys, feeling the ghosts of Marco’s hands on his. _Just like this_ , Marco murmured in his mind. _You got it_. 

Then Jean was playing. Anna joined him after a couple beats, and “Heart and Soul” rang out over the dining hall. It actually sounded like music. They did it _perfectly_.

When it was over, they stood up, and Anna flashed Jean a grin so bright it was almost blinding. He fumbled for his crutches, smiling back at her. _You did good, Kirschstein_.

As he got out of the way for the next group, he made eye contact with Marco, who was smiling almost as wide as Anna. Jean’s stomach did a flip. _I love that smile_ , he thought stupidly, grinning back.

He didn’t even hear the last group’s recital.

* * *

 

“Petra!” Jean called, swinging into the nurse’s office. “I am here for nightly bandaging!” Without waiting for a response, he sat himself with a _whump_ on her couch, stretching his injured leg out in front of him with a sigh.

She came out of the other room with her customary raised eyebrow. “Let’s see.” She sat next to him and grabbed his ankle, undoing the bandages and prodding it. After a minute, she stood up and moved away. “You’re good to go.”

He stared at her. “You forgot to re-bandage it,” he said cautiously. 

“You’re healed,” she said flatly, already disappearing into the other room. “Congrats. Don’t let me see you back here unless you desperately need something.”

Jean stared into space for a moment before leaping to his feet with a crow of victory. He put his full weight on his foot, delighted when it didn’t crumple beneath him. “Yes!” he cried triumphantly.

Then: “Wait.”

“I don’t have a second shoe.”


	9. Chapter 9

His first day back with no crutches was the best _ever_.

He started it by getting his old schedule back, with three waterfront classes and a single retained arts and crafts slot. (It was one with Marco. His stomach informed him that this was a very good thing.)

Then he took great pleasure in walking everywhere, and challenging random campers to running races. He’d let them win, because he was in a giving mood.

And then came dinner.

It was spaghetti, which started his idea. He speared a meatball on his fork and surveyed it contemplatively. “Connie,” he said conversationally, “how upset do you think Erwin would be if I threw this at someone?”

Connie raised both eyebrows. “Well, that depends on whether it would escalate.”

“Would it?”

“Depends on who you threw it at.”

Jean nodded thoughtfully. “I think I’m gonna do it. You ready? This is gonna be really messy.” He looked around at all of his boys, who began shoveling food onto their plates in preparation.

Connie shrugged. “Go for it, bro.”

Jean got up with the meatball in one hand, standing on his bench. _“FOOD FIGHT!”_ he roared, and immediately lobbed the meatball straight into Eren’s face.

The dining hall was silent for a moment, and then it simply _erupted_ into chaos. Everyone was on their feet with plates of food, running around and shrieking and throwing things. Jean caught a mound of noodles in his face before he managed to get back down from the bench. Laughing, he turned and threw an entire handful of green beans at the culprit, who turned out to be Ymir. She responded by dumping a huge bowl of marinara sauce onto his head, which left him mostly blind and more than a little annoyed.

He heard Connie get hit with a wet _splat_ , and heard him bellow with rage. Then he turned and found himself face to face with Eren, who looked like murder, with two fistfuls of mashed potatoes. Jean reached down and grabbed the bowl with the leftover pasta and pulled a Ymir, upending it on Jaeger’s head. Then he ducked, and Eren blindly smeared his mashed potatoes on Connie’s back, causing his co-counselor to cry out in shock. 

Cackling, Jean army-crawled away from his table. It was certainly interesting to see the fight from this angle—he almost got stepped on a dozen times, and food landed on him every few feet. 

Someone tread on his fingers, and he yelped, looking up. “Sorry!” called a breathless, familiar voice. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Hey, Marco!” Jean pulled himself upright. “Havin’ fun?” He grinned at Marco, crooked and bright and a little manic.

He grinned right back. “You bet!” He cheerfully smushed a handful of mashed potatoes into his cheek.

“Oh, that’s real nice,” Jean said, muffled under the onslaught of starch. “Yeah. Real classy.”

Marco laughed musically, holding his long arms out as a challenge. “Come on. Get me back.” He spun away from Jean, giggling as he went.

“You mother—” Jean grabbed the nearest thing (a plateful of green beans) and hared after the freckled boy, catching him around the waist with his free hand and holding him still as he dumped the plate of beans down the back of his shirt. Marco squealed, trying to twist away from him, and managed to hook his feet around Jean’s, throwing him completley off-balance.

They collapsed to the floor in a heap, both utterly immobile with breathless laughter. Jean pressed his forehead against Marco’s shoulder, trying hard to breathe and failing spectacularly.

The sound of desperate clanging brought everyone to attention, and the hall fell sheepishly silent. The only noise that remained was the wet _slop_ of food hitting the floor as people, now frozen guiltily in their positions, let all of it drip.

Erwin’s voice rang out over the sudden calm. “Well, I hope you all had fun.” He sounded more resigned than anything else, and the whole camp broke into relieved laughter.

Marco was still silently wheezing underneath Jean, making it very difficult to concentrate. This was not helped by Jean’s sudden realization that every single part of his body was pressed up against Marco’s, and he went red. He scrambled upright, muttering an apology, and got to his feet.

He made eye contact with Erwin, and became a deer in the headlights. The whole hall hushed again, waiting for the blow to fall.

“Jean.” Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I take it you’re enjoying your removal from the disabled list?”

“Yes, sir,” Jean said meekly.

“Don’t do it again,” Erwin said wearily. “Everyone, hit the showers. Fifth period is postponed by twenty minutes, but will end as scheduled. Go.”

The dining hall rumbled as everybody exited at once, chattering.

Jean looked down at Marco, smiling embarrassedly. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He reached a hand down to help him up, and Marco took it, yanking himself to his feet.

He smiled. “Sorry ‘bout what?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to follow his cabin. “Gotta go change! See you at evening activity!”

Jean watched him go, marinara sauce still dripping messily from his hair. 

* * *

 

“Eren did _what_?”

Connie nodded with a grin. “He tried to lead his cabin into the kitchen after hours last night. Erwin only just told everybody—it’s a miracle Levi didn’t _murder_ him.” 

“What ended up happening?” Jean asked in a hushed voice. Levi, the cook, didn’t take too kindly to people butting in on his territory. 

“They made too much noise, they got made, Levi came after them with a wooden spoon.” Connie shrugged as if to say, “the usual.” “They got off with a warning and dining hall duty.” (This was the task for one cabin to sweep the whole hall. It took a long time.)

Jean grinned suddenly, predatory and scheming. “Let’s do it.”

“Get…caught and in trouble?” Connie asked warily.

“No! Sneak into the kitchens. Properly, not like Jaeger. We’ll do it _right_. Come on, why not?” he added, pouting as Connie resolutely shook his head.

“No offense, Jean, but I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.” To prove his point, Connie plucked a stray piece of noodle out of Jean’s hair. 

Jean waved this away. “Oh, come on! I think we can do it, and these boys would love some extra food, and don’t _tell_ me you don’t want to one-up Jaeger. Especially after the mashed potato incident today.”

Connie’s face got dark. After Jean had crawled away, Eren had literally caked Connie in potatoes. Jean had laughed himself silly when he’d finally seen his co-counselor—he’d looked like a particularly pissed off mummy.

“Okay,” Connie said finally. “Let’s do it.”

Grinning maniacally, Jean roused the boys. “Wuzzgoin’ on?” asked Josh blearily when Jean shook him awake. “Morning?” He frowned at the darkness outside in confusion.

“Nope! Adventure!” Jean replied brightly. 

Suddenly, all of the boys were wide awake.

Jean forced them all to change into the darkest clothes they’d brought. Then he led them out of the cabin and through the woods to the dining hall, snaking around the back to the kitchens. They reached the back door, which was (of course) padlocked.

“How are we getting through that?” Connie hissed, jutting his chin at the lock. He was bringing up the rear of the group of campers, and his eyes kept darting around as if Levi would materialize out of nowhere.

Jean scoffed and kicked over a rock near the door, revealing a hole in the ground. He crouched, put his fingers in it, and came up with a key. “I did my recon,” he whispered back. He unlocked the padlock, which fell harmlessly into his palm. 

Connie looked begrudgingly impressed. “Eren tried a crowbar.”

“No wonder he got caught,” Jean muttered, rolling his eyes. 

They snuck in as quietly as they could, bunching up in front of the massive fridge. “Alright, everyone. Spread out. Get something of everything that looks good. Be back here in five at the most. _Don’t_ take all of something, or even _most_. Just a little. So they might not notice.”

“They’ll notice,” Connie mumbled as he passed by, but Jean noticed how eager he looked, and didn’t deign to respond. 

Five minutes later, with armfuls of all sorts of goodies, the whole cabin exited the kitchen the way they had come, just as silently. 

Jean waved them all toward the woods, rehooking the padlock on the door. He was stooping to put the key back when he heard footsteps crunching.

Swearing mentally, he straightened up at once, taking a huge step away from the door. As he expected, Levi came out of the shadows on the other side of the path, looking suspicious.

“Kirschstein,” he said, sounding surprised. He raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing out? It’s one am.”

“Fancied a stroll,” Jean said casually. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Levi stared at him for a long minute. Jean’s heard thumped in his chest. “Thought I heard voices,” the cook said at last, glancing at the door. Jean thanked every deity he knew that he’d manage to secure the padlock.

“Nope, no voices,” Jean said quickly. “Just me.”

“Hmm.” Levi surveyed him once more, then apparently decided he wasn’t worth the time. “Happy strolling,” he said, turning away. 

Jean stood stock still, his heart hammering in his temples, until he was sure that Levi was gone. Then he flew back to the hole, threw the key in, and covered it with the rock. And then he was sprinting into the woods, after his campers and Connie.

“Where were you?” Connie demanded as soon as he walked in the door, breathing hard. “What kept you?”

“Levi,” Jean said shortly. Connie’s eyes bulged. “He was just a little suspicious,” Jean added, holding his hands out placatingly. “I convinced him it was nothing, everything’s fine.”

Connie calmed down a little. “Well, we got what we wanted,” he said with a grin. 

Jean turned to survey his campers, who were all seated in a circle on the cabin floor with mounds of food. He saw everything from bagels to cake to fruit to pasta to chips. It made him feel giddy.

He scooped up a handful and made for the door. “Where you going now?” Connie asked.

“To share,” Jean said cryptically over his shoulder.

He ended up on Marco’s cabin’s doorstep, of course. He knocked softly on the door until he heard movement, and was lucky enough that a bleary-eyed Marco answered him. “Jean?” he asked incredulously, his voice roughened with sleep. He frowned. “What kind of hour do you call this?”

“Brought you something,” Jean said by way of reply. “He dumped his armload of food into Marco’s arms with a grin.

Marco stared at it. “Where’d this come from?” he asked.

“Kitchen!” Jean said, already headed back for his cabin. He had the oddest feeling that if he stayed around Marco with a sleep-rough voice and touseled hair, he’d do stupid things. “Enjoy!”

He left Marco standing bemusedly on his porch, and went cackling back to his own cabin.

It was a _great_ first day un-injured.


	10. Chapter 10

Jean surveyed the scene warily. “This is called _what_ , now?”

There was a white sheet laid out on the pine-needle-covered ground. On it, Marco was cheerfully globbing huge puddles of different colored paints, in columns. One column of yellow, one of green, one of red, one of blue.

“Paint Twister!” Marco cried cheerfully. “You simply play Twister, but instead of simply having a multi-colored board to step on—”

“You step on paint. Got it,” Jean muttered. “I’m starting to see why this activity is called ‘ _Crazy_ Arts and Crafts.’ Because you’re _crazy_.”

Marco just laughed. “You’ll love it, I promise.” He poured out the last puddle of paint and screwed the cap back on. “And believe me, so will the kids.”

Ten minutes later, Jean was wishing fervently he hadn’t kept the arts and crafts activity. “Left foot, blue,” Christa read off cheerfully, from her safe perch atop a picnic table.

Jean picked up his already rainbow-colored foot with a noise of disgust and contorted his body to put his left foot on a blue circle. “Ow ow ow ow,” he hissed.

The needle spun. “Left hand, red.”

“That’s no better.” Marco grunted as he reached under Jean for the red circle. “Sorry,” he added as an afterthought.

“No problem,” Jean replied, his voice strained.

They were the only two left. Jean wasn’t surprised—the two of them were freakishly tall, able to reach further than everybody, and all of their campers were very small. 

Jean could literally feel paint drying on his face (and every other bit of exposed skin, not to mention his clothes). He resisted the urge to scratch at it. Feeling it pooling in between his fingers and toes was not much better.

“Right foot, green!” Christa chirped.

Jean looked up at her. “You must be joking.”

“Nope!”

He pulled up his right foot and hooked it over Marco’s back, muttering an apology. He heard the smile in Marco’s soft reply, but not the words. He focused on the rattle of the needle and not the blood rushing to his face.

“Right hand, yellow.”

Swearing under his breath, Jean hitched himself forward until he was literally lying across Marco’s back and pressed his palm against a yellow circle. He felt Marco laughing underneath him and tried hard not to blush further.

“Right foot, green,” Christa said.

“That’s where it _is_ ,” Jean snapped impatiently.

“Sorry, can’t change the spinner. Stay put,” Christa said, not sounding sorry at all. She flicked it and watched it turn again.

Marco was starting to tremble underneath him from the effort of keeping his position, and Jean’s own muscles were about to give out. “Christa—” he started to say.

His elbows interrupted him by collapsing, and he fell heavily on top of Marco, who gave a surprised _oof_ and flattened out onto the sheet beneath them, ending up with his forehead in a puddle of yellow paint. 

Jean laid on top of his friend for a moment, then scrambled up, apologizing. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his friend up and raking yellow hair out of his eyes. “Are you- you’re laughing at me,” he finished flatly.

Marco was, indeed, laughing at him. “You’re heavy,” he giggled, then spun away to cackle some more.

“Okay! What campers want to play another round?” he asked, ignoring another wave of heat in his face. A bunch of kids raised their hands and he sent them to the board, laughing with them as they got covered in paint.

He tried unsuccessfully to shove the feeling of him and Marco tangled around each other out of his head, but it didn’t work. He absently resigned himself to it, picking at a dried piece of green paint on his elbow. That seemed to be just how his brain was about Marco.

Jean looked idly the other counselor, watching him watch the kids. A smear of yellow paint highlighted his cheekbone, which made Jean smile for no reason. 


	11. Chapter 11

The evening activity for tonight turned out to be an aggressive form of ultimate frisbee that involved four huge teams in a square on the soccer field. Jean didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew he was doing it _really_ well. 

“Connie!” he roared, whipping the frisbee at his co and breaking into a sprint. Their team’s goal was to get this frisbee into any of the other goals, and there was one other frisbee on the field. It was like football, with a frisbee and four goal lines.

Connie grabbed the frisbee out of the air and came to a halt, scanning the area frantically. Jean swore as the catastrophically tall Bert skidded to a halt in front of his co, spreading his arms wide and effectively blocking any passes he might make. 

Erwin shouted from the side line, “Fifty seconds left!”

Jean swore. His team was tied evenly with Bert and Marco’s team, which also happened to be Eren’s team. The other two teams were so far behind them in points that it was irrelevant, so he could focus on just beating Jaeger, and—he wanted to _win_. He started running even faster, as far as he could to get past Eren’s team’s goal line. _“Connie!”_ he screamed, and Connie made eye contact with him under one of Bert’s flailing arms. He frantically waved one hand at Jean, then pulled his arm back and threw it.

It was a Hail Mary move, Jean could see that as it went sailing high into the air above Bert’s head. The whole game stopped to watch it fly, except Eren’s team, who let out a roar and started pelting toward him.

Jean stood still and watched the trajectory of the thing, then realized that it wasn’t stopping. “Dammit Connie,” he said, his eyes widening as he started backpedalling before turning and breaking into a run, watching the frisbee over his shoulder. He was sprinting flat out by the time the frisbee was over his head, and he put on a burst of speed as he watched it go toward the ground in front of him. _I’m not gonna make it_.

In a last desperate move, he launched himself forward so he was parallel to the ground, reaching for it. Incredibly, his fingers made contact with plastic, and he got a full hand on it before he crashed to the ground.

He had no time to put even one limb out to break his fall, but he managed to twist around in mid air so he landed mostly on his back instead of his stomach. 

Pain lanced up his back, and he curled his legs up to his chest with a wince. But it was nowhere near as bad as his ankle had been, so he shoved the pain aside for the time being, choosing instead to stare at the frisbee he was currently clutching with both hands.

He barely had time to look at it before Connie came barreling up to him, shouting gleefully. _“Nice catch!”_ he roared, yanking a dazed Jean to his feet. They instantly got swarmed by the rest of their team, campers and counselors alike bouncing with joy.

Jean could see Eren arguing with Erwin, who was shaking his head. Jean assumed it was because the catch had been a diving one, but he knew it counted so he didn’t worry.

The prize for winning was two days of that entire fourth of the camp being able to get food before everybody else at meals. Jean wasn’t sure Erwin had thought that particular prize all the way through, but he wasn’t complaining at all.

What he _was_ complaining about as he walked off the field, one hand splayed across his lower back, would be his newly aching muscles there. 

* * *

 

“You like that?” Marco asked from behind him.

Jean gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the arm of the couch. “Harder,” he ground out. His knuckles went white in the fabric of the seat he was on.

Marco dug his fingers deeper into the muscle tissue on his back, trying to work out the knots. “Is it here?” he asked, his voice a little strangled from the effort.

Screwing his eyes up against the feeling of having _thumbs_ in his _muscles_ , Jean managed to nod. “Yeah. There and a couple other places,” he replied, slightly breathless. They were in the staff house, on a couch in one of the rooms, by themselves. Jean had been complaining so vigorously about his back that Marco had rolled his eyes and offered to massage it.

Marco hummed in response and prodded Jean’s back still further. Jean actually moaned out loud, then blushed furiously.

Three heads popped around the door jamb, varying levels of concern displayed on their faces. Jean stared at them for a moment before they resolved into the familiar shapes of Eren, Armin, and Mikasa. “What do _you_ want?” he asked harshly.

Armin looked nervously at Mikasa, who raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Eren, who looked supremely embarrassed. “We just, ah…” He trailed off, then received an elbow in the ribs from Miksasa. “Ow! We just… heard the noise, we were concerned.”

Jean stared at them for a long moment before remembering his moaning and blushing all over again. “Oh. You thought we were…” He trailed off, his face getting redder, refusing to finish the sentence. 

“Having sex, yes,” Mikasa said matter-of-factly. “Glad to see you’re not.” She grabbed the two boys and steered them resolutely back the way they came, leaving Marco and Jean in a slightly stunned, slightly awkward silence.

Marco eventually made a noise that sounded like a verbal shrug and went right back to it. “Whatever,” he muttered, in the vague direction of Jean’s shoulder blades, more to himself than to Jean.

Jean responded anyway. “Yeah. Whatever.”

However, he refrained from making any other remotely sex-related noises for the rest of Marco’s massage, and he went to bed distracted.

As he was falling asleep, he replayed the scene in his mind. _“Having sex, yes,”_ Mikasa said in his head. _Hm. How would that be?_ Jean thought idly.

He froze, suddenly wide awake. _WHOA, okay, time out_. He shook his head to clear it, pressing his palms hard into his eyes. _We’re not going there_ , he told himself firmly. _Just put that…in a corner. Not dealing with that right now_.

He rolled over and went to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

“Marco, we only need two canoes,” Jean said, nonplussed.

Marco stopped for a moment to consider the third canoe that he was in the process of yanking out of the shed, then turned to count the kids for the billionth time. “We’ve got five kids?” he said at last, turning it into a question.

“Yeah. I take three, you take two…” Jean trailed off, watching Marco think.

At last he shrugged. “Yeah, okay.” They hauled the two canoes into the water, dumping supplies and kids unceremoniously into each one.

This trip was part of the activity called “Basic Outdoor Camping Skills.” It was more or less a week of making fires and cooking food on those fires, and then on Thursday night (tonight) the class got in canoes and spent the night out on an island that the camp owned. The island happened to be called Mosquito Island, a name that was far too accurate. 

A lifeguard was always required to go, due to the canoe trip. It was Jean’s turn.

He gave a long-suffering sigh and stuck his paddle into the water, slicing through it and propelling it toward the island. _It’s only one night_ , he told himself. But he happened to be fond of sleeping _indoors_ , not out on some rock. He tried not to scowl.

They reached the island and set up tents with minimal fuss, cooking halfway-decent quesadillas on the fire. When the mosquitos started to get particularly bad, Jean declared it bedtime. The kids went into their tents and sat with lanterns on much later than they should have, but Jean couldn’t bring himself to care. As a ten-year-old, he was certain that he would have stayed up late on a camping trip too.

Marco gave him a crooked smile. “So. You’re being quiet.”

Jean grunted and wiggled deeper into his sleeping bag. “I don’t like camping,” he admitted grudgingly. 

“You work at a _camp_ ,” Marco pointed out, his eyebrows up by his hairline. He looked like he was trying hard not to laugh.

Scowling, Jean sat up to glare at him. “I mean in _tents_ , like this.” He looked out the tent flap at the dying embers of their fire. “It always gets cold.”

Marco chuckled and doused their lantern, lying down. “If you find yourself chilled, feel free to cuddle with me,” he said jokingly.

“Oh, sure,” Jean muttered. “I’ll do that, then.”

“Goodnight, Jean,” Marco said, his voice full of suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight.” Jean rolled over and faced the tent wall, determinedly keeping away from Marco.

* * *

 

The first thing Jean noticed when he woke up was that there was light in his eyes. He frowned and grumbled incoherently and nuzzled his face back into his pillow, trying to get away from it. It was the watery quality of early morning, and that was something he _didn’t want_.

The second thing he noticed was that he was _warm_. This woke him up a little bit, because he wasn’t used to that. He half sat up, or tried to. He was pinned down by something heavy across his chest. He panicked for about a milisecond before squinting at it until it resolved into Marco’s arm, laid across him.

He stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, before he took in the whole scene.

Jean and Marco were tangled together. Somehow, they’d both ended up out of their sleeping bags, but sometime in the night Marco had lazily tossed a blanket across the pair of them. One of his arms was under Jean’s head, the other one thrown across Jean’s chest, and both of his legs were stuck through and around Jean’s. They were chest to chest, Marco’s head just under Jean’s chin. He was still asleep, his face peaceful, his breathing even.

For a moment, Jean just looked at him. _Okay_ , his brain squeaked after a moment, coming back from its confused short-circuit. _Alright_.

Marco chose that moment to wake up, and he blinked himself awake for a moment before focusing on Jean with those big brown eyes. When he made eye contact, his face lit up with a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” he said fuzzily, his voice rough with sleep. It sent a shiver down Jean’s spine.

Jean’s eyes widened. _Oh, shit_.

* * *

 

“Connie!” Jean shouted, banging into their cabin. All was quiet, the kids were having a (slightly illegal) playdate at a different cabin for rest period. Jean had wanted the cabin clear for at least an hour.

Connie looked up at him, concerned. “What’s this about, Jean?”

Jean collapsed in a heap on Connie’s bed and put his face in his hands. “I think I have feelings for Marco,” he groaned into his palms. “And I need your help.”

There was a heavy, very pregnant pause. “Have you actually stopped to address your ‘feelings’ for him? You know, like what kind of ‘feelings’ they are?” Connie asked patiently.

Jean scoffed. “Hell, no. He’s my friend.”

“Your friend,” Connie deadpanned. “Okay. _Friend_ ‘feelings.’ So why are you freaking out?”

“Because…” Jean hesitated, then let it spill out of him. “Because I really, really like him and I’m not sure what that means because I’ve never felt this way about anybody? Particularly not a boy? And I’m not sure what it’s _supposed_ to feel like and I’m scared of the feeling so I’ve just been ignoring it and now I _don’t know what to do_.”

Connie sighed and leaned forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not ‘supposed’ to feel like anything, but what it sounds like to me is that you’ve been slowly falling in love with him and you only just realized because you ignored the truth so long that it was forced to hit you like a ton of bricks to make you understand.”

“You’re so reassuring.”

“What I mean is, clearly you love the guy. So why fight it?”

“I’ve never…done this before.” Jean wrung his hands in his lap. “I don’t get this. Does this mean I’m gay?”

Connie rolled his eyes so hard Jean thought they’d never come back around. “Possibly. And what would be wrong with that, exactly?”

“ _Possibly_?!”

“You could be bi, Jean. Or pan. Or any number of incredibly complex identities that I have a feeling you want to learn about on your own, not from me.” Connie regarded him with a knowing look.

“You’re probably right,” Jean conceded. “You’re making my head hurt just thinking about it.” Connie rolled his eyes again, which Jean ignored. “How about we go with…Marco-sexual? Is that okay?”

Connie pressed a hand into his forehead. “Yes. Good. Fine.” His voice sounded strained. “The issue at hand isn’t what your sexual identity is, Jean, although that _is_ important if you care about it. The _current_ issue is what you’re going to do now that you’ve admitted you’re in love with Marco.”

Jean sat back against the wall, hauling in a shuddering breath. “I…don’t know.”

“Hot damn, I gotta walk you through this like a twelve-year-old with a crush,” Connie growled to nobody in particular. “All right, Jean, if you’re gonna make it so damn difficult, let’s walk through it. Do you like him?”

“We established that. Yes.”

“Do you wanna kiss him?”

“Y-yes.”

“D’you wanna date him?”

“…Yes.”

“Then ask him out!” Connie smacked himself in the face with the nearest thing to his hand, which happened to be a plastic flashlight. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jean, it’s not rocket science,” he added, rubbing his forehead with a wince.

“You are quite possibly the least sympathetic friend I’ve ever had,” Jean declared defensively, hugging his knees to his chest. “I’m goin’ through a crisis here, show a little support.”

There was a pause, and Connie’s expression softened. He patted Jean’s shoulder. “Bud. Dude. Pal. Trust me on this one, everything’s going to be okay. After all, he likes you too.”

Jean looked up at him so fast he got a crick in his neck. Grimacing, he massaged it with his fingers, looking at Connie warily. “You sure?”

“Hell yes, I’m sure,” Connie snorted. “Damn, you two are the most obvious people ever. Please, Jean,” he added, grabbing Jean’s face between his hands. “Please, do everybody a favor and ask that boy out.” He shook Jean a little, his expression desperate. “The sexual tension is killing us.”

Laughing, Jean knocked his hands away. “Well, we’ll see.” He stuck his hands between his knees to make them stop shaking. “I, uh… gotta process.” He stood up awkwardly.

“‘Course,” Connie said, waving him away. “Process all you like.”

Jean paused at the cabin door. “Connie… thanks.”

He batted this aside with a scoff. “Hey, it’s what I’m here for.”

Jean nodded awkwardly and completed his exit, his head spinning.


	13. Chapter 13

Jean wandered around the camp for almost a week in a state of utter confusion. He withdrew from Marco for a couple days, just to see what would happen, but then his chest would ache distractingly and he got sick of it pretty quickly. That, plus the wounded-puppy look that Marco got when Jean would walk away abruptly, ended his self-imposed isolation pretty quickly.

But that meant that he was in an almost constant state of suffering, hanging out with Marco and feeling his chest tingle whenever he laughed or smiled or did just about anything. It was _torture_.

He complained about it to Connie, who just laughed at him. “Ask him out,” his co-counselor would say sing-songily, his only advice.

Jean pouted, looking down at his handful of cards. It had now been six days since the universe had dumped him on his ass. Mercifully (or unmercifully, depending on how you looked at it), he was currently Marco-free. It was camper time, the time of the day when campers literally just wandered around the camp doing what they wanted to. Jean was on grove duty, where kids came to play cards and board games. Today, he was teaching a group of kiddos to play various forms of poker. This was slightly against the rules, but that made it more fun.

“Hit me,” one of the boys said, rapping the table with his knuckles.

Shaking off his thoughts of Marco, Jean flipped a card upright on the boy’s pile with a flourish. “Six showing,” he said, trying to help with the math. Blackjack was his favorite, being both simple and fun.

The kid frowned. “Hit me,” he said again, less certainly this time.

Jean complied. “Eleven showing,” he said helpfully.

The kid frowned harder. “Bust,” he muttered, pillowing his head on his crossed arms.

“Better luck next time,” Jean told him cheerfully, moving on to the next kid in the circle. “Hit or stay?” he asked, trying to sound official, like a real casino dealer.

At that exact moment, a certain someone decided to walk by. 

“Hey, Jean!” Marco called cheerfully, waving.

“Hey, Marco!” Jean called back with entirely too much enthusiasm, straightening up to keep eye contact with the other counselor. He watched Marco until he was out of sight, then sighed and deflated again.

The girl he’d been about to deal to was staring at him shrewdly. He fought down rising heat in his face. “What?” he asked gruffly.

She gave him a gap-toothed grin. “You should date him,” she informed him.

The heat came up to his face uninvited. “Sh-should I?” he asked, suddenly very interested in the deck he was holding. “I dunno…”

“Yes. You like him,” she told him matter-of-factly. “You got all happy when he went by.”

“Oh. Okay.” He was really blushing now.

“You should ask him to the dance,” she said wisely, nodding her head seriously. 

He considered her for a long moment, slipping into a reverie. There _was_ a dance tomorrow, but it was way more for the kids than the counselors (as was everything). It would be dumb to “ask” Marco to it, but the part of his brain that was now entirely devoted to his emotions for Marco was happily chirping that he should _totally_ take him to the dance. He scoffed at it, then shook himself out of his head, clearing his throat. “Right. Well, thanks for that, I guess. Hit or stay?”

She shrugged and took cards until she had thirty showing, at which point Jean cut her off, laughing. A twelve year old ended up getting twenty-one on the nose, and Jean bitterly shoved a pile of M &Ms at him, then won them all back the next round.

Jean’s thoughts spun around Marco, and the stupid dance, until camper time was long over and the M&Ms long gone. 

* * *

 

Jean leaned up against the back wall of the auditorium, one of his feet flat against the wall to keep himself upright. His hands were in his pockets, and he was trying hard not to nod his head to the beat. The song was crap, but the DJ that Erwin had hired had the bass up on his speakers, and it was vibrating in Jean’s sternum in a way that he just _loved_. It reminded him of concerts, made him feel a little high and giddy.

In all honesty, it would explain his Ridiculous Decision of the evening.

The song ended, and the DJ started playing something slow. Jean groaned out loud when he realized that it was “Stairway to Heaven,” which brought the _worst_ flashbacks from middle school. He was considering plugging his ears (nobody said he had to be in full hearing capacity to chaperone) when a familiar figure sidled up to him.

With a smile that was more of a crooked smirk, Marco stuck his hand out. His eyes were shining in the dim light. “Dance with me?” he asked, quirking one eyebrow up. His freckles were shining in the strobe lights. 

Jean couldn’t have said no to this boy even if he’d wanted to. “Sure,” he said, quirking a smile and putting his hand in Marco’s.

Marco grinned in full and pulled Jean tight against him, laughing when Jean went taut as a wire. “Relax,” he mumbled, hooking his arms up around Jean’s neck like they were twelve-year-olds slow dancing for the first time. “It’s just a joke,” he mumbled against Jean’s ear.

“A joke,” Jean echoed, his throat dry. He rested his hands on Marco’s hips. 

“Yeah. Just go with it.” Marco began to sway back and forth, very slightly, revolving on the spot.

_This is stupid. I’m stupid. I’m head over heels for this boy, and here I am, dancing with him jokingly_. Jean resisted the urge to laugh out loud, hysterically, like he suddenly wanted to. _I’m crazy_. But he didn’t separate, and in fact tugged Marco closer, grinning.

They stayed close the whole song, somehow maintaining eye contact. Jean felt far away, as if it were happening to somebody else. His hands tingled on Marco’s hips.

Then the song ended, and Marco broke away from him immediately and melted back into the crowd with nothing but a parting smile over his shoulder.

Jean returned to his wall and brooded. Neither of them mentioned it again. 

When Jean told Connie what had happened, his co-counselor laughed himself silly and then hit Jean with a pillow. “Tell him!” Connie screeched at the top of his lungs. “If not for your sake, then for mine!”

“Fine!” Jean bellowed, raising his hands to stop the onslaught of the pillow.

“By the end of this week,” Connie demanded, his eyes bright and crazed. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Jean said, sitting up. He looked down at his hands and wavered for a moment, suddenly terrified. But then his resolve stiffened and he clenched his fists. “I promise,” he repeated.

“Good.” Connie was already turning away. “My God, I should get payed extra for this shit.”


	14. Chapter 14

Jean took a shaky breath and clenched a fist around his pen. He was sitting by the flagpole, where he could see the whole camp. It was dusky, the loons just starting to sing on the water. The camp, up the hill from where he was, looked like utter chaos. Campers were running everywhere, screaming and yelling.

Evening activity tonight was a game called “Messages to Garcia,” where counselors sat in spots that they were Not Allowed to move from, like Jean’s spot at the flagpole. Campers had been split into two huge groups. One of them was a group of messengers, whose job it was to sprint around camp and gather small notes from counselors and deliver them to other counselors. The _other_ group had the job of chasing these messengers and stealing the notes. Halfway through, they’d switch roles. The team with the most stolen messages at the end of everything would win the whole game.

Jean tapped his pen against his teeth. “You know where Marco is?” he asked the boy standing in front of him. It was Frank, his sneakiest camper, a very quiet French boy. 

“Yes,” he replied. He pointed up to the grove, where Jean could just make out Marco’s lanky form perched on top of a picnic table. 

“Good. Take this.” Jean shoved a note into Frank’s hand. 

The boy was off like a shot.

This note didn’t say anything important. It was a test run, to see if Marco would respond and if Frank was reliable. It said: _Hey. Having fun yet?_

Jean tracked Frank’s progress, scribbling random messages to Connie and giving them to the other campers who happened by.

Frank arrived back, breathless, with a reply. Jean unfolded it to find: _Yes. :) Hear those loons?_

Jean cursed under his breath. He hadn’t meant to start a conversation, dammit. He scrawled a hasty reply, grumbling to himself. _Hell yes I do, they’re loud as hell. Listen, I got something to tell you. It’s important_.

He folded the note and gave it to Frank. “Go. Don’t get caught.”

The boy nodded solemnly and ran away again. 

When he finally came back, Jean was getting jittery. They only had a few minutes until the game ended (it had taken this entire damn time to get his nerve up and he was going to run out of time goddammit). He practically ripped the reply out of Frank’s hand and unfolded it with trembling hands. 

_Okay. What is it?_

Jean blew out all of his breath in one go. Before he could think the better of it, he wrote: _I like you. A lot. In a not-so-just-friends way. Like a maybe-very-romantic, I-want-to-kiss you way._ ~~_Do you_ ~~ _Is that okay?_

He resisted the urge to add a “do you like me back, check yes or no” component and folded the note up as it was, with very shaky fingers. “Do not lose this,” he ordered Frank. “If you get intercepted, pretend you don’t have any papers.”

Frank’s eyes got very wide. “You are telling me to cheat?”

“Only in this extreme case,” Jean snapped. “This one is very important.”

The kid gave him and actual salute and sprinted away. Jean watched him run, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the pen. 

A fourteen-year-old ran up to Frank and tagged him, looking triumphant. Jean swore to himself. Frank tried to look innocent, but the paper could be clearly seen even from Jean’s point of view. The bigger kid took it, sprinting toward the auditorium porch to deposit it in his team’s bucket. Frank turned and made eye contact with Jean, giving a hopeless shrug as the end-of-game bell began to toll.

Jean groaned, long and frustrated, with his head in his hands. _Guess I’m gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way._

_I hope nobody reads that note_.

* * *

 

That night at staff time, Jean tried very hard to keep himself still as he looked for an opening to talk to Marco alone. Marco kept giving him these darting, nervous looks, and for the longest time Jean couldn’t figure out why. But then he remembered: he’d given Marco a pretty serious sounding message, and Marco had never gotten the response.

Connie sidled up to Jean. “Laundry room’s clear,” he muttered in Jean’s ear. He pressed something small and papery into his hand. “I managed to snag this, also.”

Jean looked at it, recognizing his own handwriting. His stomach soared. It was his intercepted note. “How…?”

“I helped count,” Connie said quietly. “Thought it might help you.”

“Thanks, bud,” Jean said gratefully, slapping his friend’s shoulder. “I owe you one.”  
“You owe me the relieving of the sexual tension, that’s all,” Connie hissed. “I’d do basically anything to get that at this point, so don’t worry bout it.”

Jean gave him a shaky smile, which was all he could manage. Then he crossed the room and grabbed Marco’s wrist. “Come with me?” he asked, jerking his head toward the laundry room.

Marco looked at him with wide eyes. “Okay.” 

They cut through the crowd pretty quickly, and Jean closed the door behind them. It was suddenly, blessedly, awkwardly quiet in the small room, and Jean exhaled all at once.

“So.” Marco leaned against the dryer and gave Jean a questioning look. “What’s this about?”

“The note I wrote to you got intercepted,” Jean said, all in a rush. He held it out toward Marco with two fingers, his whole hand shaking. “I, uh, here it is.”

Marco reached out and took it, looking at Jean warily. He unfolded the note and read it. Jean watched his eyes rove over the paper and tried hard not to bounce on the balls of his feet. He also tried hard not to bolt out of the damn room. 

A blush rose high on Marco’s cheeks. “You mean this?” he asked, his voice a little raspy.

“I, uh.” Jean cleared his throat, determinedly not making eye contact with Marco. “Yes.” He wished his face would stop turning _fucking_ red. “Yes, I do.”

Marco started laughing.

Jean finally looked at him, affronted. “What—”

“I’m sorry,” Marco giggled, pressing the hand holding the note up against his mouth in an attempt to stem the laughter. His eyes were full of mirth and something else. “It’s just… you’re so _stupid_.”

He crossed the room in one smooth motion and grabbed Jean’s face between his hands, smiling down at him tenderly. “I like you too, you dumbass,” he said softly, and kissed him. 

Jean melted against him, his arms coming up to circle Marco’s waist. It felt _good_ , so good, just like he’d been fantasizing about for the past week (fuck, the whole summer). It was like a perfect bubble of just him and Marco, and they were untouchable—

The door popped open.

Jean pulled away from Marco to glare at Connie. “Get out,” he snapped.

“I was just checking!” Connie yelped as Jean snarled wordlessly at him, closing the door hard. “Git some, boy,” Connie added through the closed door, laughing when Jean growled incoherently in his general direction.

Marco laughed and pulled Jean’s chin back toward him. “Yeah, Jean,” he said, his voice trembling with laughter. “Git some.”

“And you call _me_ stupid,” Jean mumbled, already pulling Marco back into him. 

“Maybe we’re both stupid,” Marco said against his lips, his hands twisting distractingly in Jean’s hair.

“ _Nn_ -maybe.” Jean backed Marco up until his back hit the washing machine. “But I think this is a pretty good idea.”

Marco chuckled against his skin, his nose nuzzling Jean’s cheek in a way that made his heart feel like it was expanding. “Yeah, I think so too,” he whispered.

Jean made an unintelligible humming noise and nudged Marco with his nose until their lips met again.

_It’s gonna be a good summer_.

 

** Fin **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Finally freakin' completed this, thank the lord.  
> Happy Christmas, ArmedPenguins!

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, it's a little short, but we're just getting started. Jean is injured and Marco is already a hovering (boy)friend.


End file.
